


Weighted Down

by Storybookwriter



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, Michael Burnham Needs a Hug, Michael Burnham gets hugs, Platonic Relationships, Several POVs, Sick Michael Burnham, Sickfic, dubious character accuracy, i tried okay, one of several versions of the reconciliation in my head, only platonic, she deserves people taking care of her and thinking about her, since the one that happened in canon pissed me off that much, this entire fic is so questionable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-16 11:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19317625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storybookwriter/pseuds/Storybookwriter
Summary: Michael Burnham is ill. Spock is left to pick up the pieces and several others stop and consider all that has happened. Takes place after "Project Daedalus".





	1. Succumbing

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write something like this for a while and...well, it happened.

Michael knew it that it would sooner or later that she herself with come down with the pathogen that had evaded Discovery’s filtering systems and wreaked havoc on the crewmen, whose immune systems were unable to provide the protection to keep the virus at bay. She would have much preferred later rather than sooner. Later, when the menacing shadow of the destruction of the universe wasn’t looming over them. If her general existence had taught her anything, though, it was that very little, if anything at all, generally went the way she wanted it to. And, so it was the general law of her life that she woke up with the telltale signs of the virus that people had complained about; a headache and an ache that seemed to have settled into every joint. Of course, this was after Spock’s presence being safely established on Discovery.

She supposed it might have been worse if it had been before then; an illness combined with the ever-present notion that her little brother would turn up dead or worse, that they were too late to do anything to help would have simply been unbearable. But now, Spock himself provided new challenges and struggles, the least of these, trying to mend the rift, big enough to swallow them both. She wasn’t quite prepared to think about the worst-case scenario  
.  
“Hey….” Tilly’s voice grabbed her attention and she turned her head. “You okay? You’re usually up much earlier than me.”

Michael pursed her lips and nodded.

“I'm Fine.”

“You probably needed it after…you know,” She made a gesture with her hands. “You know...everything and all...” She trailed off.

Tilly took Michael’s silence as affirmation.

“Maybe Doctor Pollard or Culber could give you something to help you sleep or something.” She suggested helpfully.

“Maybe,” Michael replied, pulling her uniform over her head. Bed was much more preferable to what was waiting for her in Engineering.  
“I have to report to Engineering,” she said with a lack of any good reply. 

“Well, make sure you pick up a bagel or something in the messhall,” Tilly said. Michael nodded although already deciding to skip breakfast altogether. She could wait until lunch. It wasn’t exactly the first time she had missed breakfast. She would live.

~~

“You are late,” Spock said, the closest thing to a polite greeting that he had delivered her since his arrival on Discovery. Michael restrained the sudden primal urge to backhand him at sight, instead choosing the more graceful route of apologizing and taking her place across him from their shared console. There was no energy available for any arguing or defenses. She had developed a three-step plan that had embedded itself in her mind on the trek from her quarters to Engineering; go to Engineering. Finish shift. Return to quarters. Sleep the rest of the day away. And Michael was adamant that there would not be any deviation from that plan today.

“I think it is safe to assume that “Project Daedalus” should be the first and foremost priority on our list.” 

Michael hummed in agreement as she began to log into her console and get herself organized for another long day of research. There was a pause.

“Michael.”

She raised her head.

“What.”

“Did you not hear what I said?”

“About finding Project Daedalus?”

“After that.”

Spock elaborated when there was only silence.

“About the role Daedalus played in Greek mythology.”

“I know the myth,” Michael responded shortly.

“I never said you didn’t,” Spock said.

“There seem to be plenty of things you think that I do not know,” She mumbled in response as she jabbed the controls on her consul. If Spock heard, he did not offer any response. She was glad for that; she had already spoken more than she had desired. Spock’s tone has shed the haughtiness he had taken to speaking with her, so she supposed that was something to be grateful for.

~~

It did not escape Spock’s attention that Michael had not gone about her usual attempts of engaging him in conversation, choosing to only hum in what he assumed was agreement and replying in monosyllabic responses instead. There were several reasons of comparable probability on why that was the case. Firstly, the death of a crewmate and close friend and their last interaction coming in at a close second. Spock allowed himself to internally admit that he was probably not high on Michael’s list of people she was willing to speak to at the moment.

“Well, of course, no one would want to call a project “Icarus”, that is like dooming the project before it began,”

And then there was also that. When the responses that weren't in hums and muttered syllables, they were laced with the sarcasm that was standard with growing up on Vulcan, amongst Vulcans.

“The ways that humans tend to hold onto symbolism of ancient mythology never ceases to amaze me,” Spock responded.

“Kind of how like “nirrok” used to be a name but now means “fool” in Vulcan huh?”

Okay, he was not entirely correct in his previous statement; Michael was trying to engage him but in the form of an argument. 

She has given up on me entirely, Spock concluded. 

All attempts in subdued reconciliation had regressed in impolite tones and backhanded compliments. In the joint quarters she shared with her roommate, he snatched her olive branch, tore it up and threw it back in her face. The image of shattered glass mingled with chess pieces scattered about the room was a physical manifestation of that. The verbal…..He shook his head. He worked hard to hurt her. And in the end, all of that work paid off. He wanted nothing but for her to feel the same pain that she inflicted on him all those years ago. But instead, the old emotions of anger and emptiness had been replaced with newer, stronger emotions of longing paired with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Later, he told himself. When everything had leveled out and when Michael was less angry and more receptive, he’d talk with her. But if Spock himself was any indication, though, it could be literal years before they might be back on terms that could only vaguely resemble on being communicable.

He caught sight of the analog clock located at the corner of the screen. Was it really 1200 hours already? He glanced up at Michael. She still went about her work at the console and had not noticed him staring.

“Michael.”

Her head raised in response.

“I am going to go to the mess hall and get something to eat.” 

Michael glanced at him, at her consul and back at him.

“What?”

He stifled a sigh that was budding in this stomach.

“I was wondering if you would like to accompany me.”

Michael blinked at him.

“Why?”

“Because humans usually require food and rest more than Vulcans do,”

“I’m fine,” Michael replied tersely.

He watched her as she crossed to another panel some ways away.

“You keep saying that and yet that I’m beginning to think that you do not know what that word means.”

Michael’s dark eyes bore into him through the transparent screen.

“What’s your point, Spock?”

“That it is not a good idea for you to go without any food or water for a significant period of time,” He replied.

Michael did not offer any kind of response, choosing to be suddenly intently focused on her work. This time, Spock did sigh. But not audibly. Now, he knew better than to allow his emotions to break through the surface.

~~

Paul felt exhausted from all of this. And he wasn’t even directly involved in the drama he was witnessing in real time. He tried to return his focus back to the malfunctioning device but found his sight being drawn back to Michael. She really wasn’t herself. If he was going to say anything (the compulsion was growing stronger and stronger) he’d have to broach the subject carefully, like the delicacy that spore drive commanded. He wouldn’t compare these siblings to the spore drive though; they were more like a pair of malfunctioning plasma conduits that always carried a risk of jolting you when your intention was to offer them love and support. He eventually put his tool down and approached the pacing woman but not before he berated himself for getting involved with this dysfunctional duo in the first place.

“Um Michael?”

Michael turned her head in his general direction and Paul stopped. She really did not look well, Paul could say with absolute certainty now that he was in front of her. Her features had grown gaunt and that accompanied with listless dark eyes made her appear to be a walking corpse (he cringed at his own comparison). 

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you go to the mess hall, get something to eat and take the rest of the day off?"

Michael narrowed her eyes.

"There's no time for that."

"I'll cover you," He said. "I can work with your brother for the rest of the day. Besides I do not think that Captain would be opposed to getting you to take a day off for the sake of your physical and mental health."

This time, Michael did stop what she was doing considered him cooly.

"To say that we are in a time crunch is an understatement,” Michael said coolly. “Time cannot be wasted.”

“Taking care of yourself is not “wasting time”!” Paul exclaimed, withholding the urge to throw his hands in the air. He was beginning to sound like Hugh now…..

“Can you at least go to the messhall and get something to eat?" He was almost pleading with her. "Even Spock’s been concerned about you recently,”  
Michael’s expression quickly morphed into stone and Paul briefly wondered if he should have left that last part out entirely. Several anxious seconds passed before Michael spoke.  
“I’ll go to the messhall,” She said finally and Paul exhaled. Finally, he was getting somewhere with someone.

“Be sure you do,” He said. “I’ve learned a long time ago that food and water are not subjective needs.”

“What are you, my brother?”

Paul could not entirely tell if Michael was joking or not and only had enough to say a quick “See ya” as Michael exited the messhall.

~~

She didn’t know why but she did not stop when she approached the messhall. She told herself to turn herself around to go back but her body was willing that she return to...to her quarters. She was in the passenger seat of her body. Against her will, she felt her muscles instantly weaken when she approached the door to the joint quarters she shared with Tilly. She also felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Like nothing bad could possibly happen once she crossed the threshold of her quarters.

The room welcomed her with open arms, feeling, beckoning her to embrace the comfort of her own bed in her own sheets. She wanted nothing but to fall into an eternal sleep. Even the idea of dreaming seemed too exhaustion than to be dealt with at the moment. She was vaguely aware of the bustle of crewmembers outside of her quarters.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her torso. When had it become so cold when she was feeling what she considered a barely tolerable heat just minutes (....was it minutes) before.

No.

She forced herself to turn away from her bed and towards the cold door. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. It was stupid of her to wander back to her quarters when she said specifically said she was going to the messhall. She was going to go to the messhall. She was going to eat a small bowl of plomeek soup. Finish her shift. And then go the sleep that she craved so badly.

She didn't want the noisy chatter of the messhall or Spock's damning eyes staring at her as she spooned her soup.

She didn't quite know why he was trying to engage her in niceties when all that he wanted to say was said in that exposing chess game. The pieces were in a box in the back of her closet along with the remnants of their relationship. A humourless chuckle forced itself up her throat. What relationship? He didn't want a relationship with her; he made that exponentially clear. Well, fine with her, she thought. The desire of having a relationship with him had cracked when he struck her chess board. It would eventually disappear entirely. But she didn't quite want to think about that at the moment. She just wanted to sleep. She could feel the blankets reaching out to her, beckoning her to sink into it and not to move for a very very long time.

She felt as the sounds of the corridor outside of her quarters became more and more distant. The feeling as her knees finally buckled beneath the dead weight of her torso and the feeling of the wind being knocked from her lungs as her fall came to an abrupt halt on the metal floor. She couldn’t move. Even her eyelids were pressed shut but some invisible weight. She could do nothing but resign herself to the comforting black that cushioned her as she closed her eyes.

~~

Spock immediately noticed an absence of Michael at the consul upon entering into Engineering.

“Where did Michael go?”

The Lieutenant Commander raised his head from his device and turned to Spock, to the console, and back to Spock again.

“I...assumed she was with you,” And continued when Spock cocked an eyebrow. “I finally convinced her to at least go to the messhall and get something to eat...did you not see her??”

Spock only replied with a shake of his head while he fought off the impression that something was very very wrong. He crossed Engineering and to the console that he shared with Michael.

“Computer locate my --” He paused. “Locate Commander Burnham.”

“Commander Burnham is in her quarters,” The computer replied monotonously and Spock turned to the Lieutenant Commander.

"I-I swear she told me she was going to the messhall..."

“It isn’t like Michael to say one thing to the other, though it isn’t completely out of character….” He added the last part in a kind of murmur. Lieutenant Commander Stamets brows furrowed.

“But I believe you,” He said, turning to him. “Michael has not...been acting herself lately,”

“I’ve noticed...understandable under recent events,”

Spock nodded, stifling the overwhelming urge that there was something else that was very very wrong. Vulcans did not find logic on reacting to what their mother often called a “gut instinct”. It was considered "too human".

“I will go and find her.” He finally said. He felt Lieutenant Commander Stamet’s eyes trail after him as he left.

~~

The steel door before him was exactly identical to the rest of those on Discovery but this one appeared to be looming over him, mocking him and daring him to turn back. He shook his head. It was completely illogical for a door to “mock” him and to conjure such an emotional response. Entering this door would be crossing the threshold of words that could not be taken back and a very intense regret. No. He approached. He owed to them. He owed it to their relationship which was hanging by a single thread. He owed it to Michael. He pressed the chime.  
…

…………

Nothing.

He pressed it once more before reverting back to the age-old action of rapping his knuckles against the metal door. The cold metal raised goosebumps on his arm.  
“Michael?” He called tentatively. “Are you there?” And after about a second of deliberation, added: “Are you alright?”

There was still no response.

“Michael!” He called again, this time louder, allowing himself to deliver a stronger knock on the door. When he felt he had given Michael a sufficient amount of time to respond. He jabbed the “open” button on the door. He fully expected to have to get Captain Pike or another senior officer who was just as concerned about Commander Burnham to come and do a manual override (somehow, he thought, hacking into the control panel of said door would not be met with general approval). He was both pleased and surprised when the door parted before him but felt the base of his throat close up at the sight that greeted him.

Michael was a pile of limbs on the floor. 

He was over her, both fingers and focus probing her head for the warm, metallic stench of blood of escaping. There was none but reside of perspiration clung to his hand. Grabbing her shoulders, turned her on her back. 

This was no different than what happened on Talos IV. 

He pulled her against him. Except it wasn’t. Michael knew the consequences of a third-party establishing a telepathic link between them. This was something that he had not anticipated. He never imagined himself in a situation where he would be the one to see Michael was in such a state of helplessness, he realized. It seemed that even as he had watched her fall unconscious on Talos IV, there was a still a form of dignity; a form of control that she still maintained in spite of it. Long fingers explored her neck for a pulse and allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. It was quick and faint, but a pulse nonetheless.

“Michael?”

She still remained unresponsive, her brows drawn together and chest rising with inconsistent breaths. Whatever she was experiencing, pain was involved.

“Michael!”

He gave her a slight shake, her head only flopping lifelessly against his chest. 

“Michael, can you hear me? Everything is going to be alright.”

He slipped one arm under her neck while the other had provided support under her knees. And then, as if being driven by a supernatural force, the doors hissed open, revealing Tilly. Pale eyes went wide as they jerked between Spock and her unconscious friend in his arms.

“Spock?!”

“Tell Sickbay we have a medical emergency!”

He then maneuvered himself and Michael past her and into the hall.


	2. Anger Unresolved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unresolved anger comes out in the least effective ways.

Spock was in Sickbay almost as soon as the doors were wide enough to allow him through. Tilly followed suit.

“What happened?!” She demanded when her eyes laid upon the unconscious officer in the Vulcan’s arms paired with the obviously terrified expression of Ensign Tilly.

“I do not know,” Spock answered. “She had disappeared during our break and all attempts to contact her had failed. I found her passed out in her room.”

Hugh quickly gestured to a nearby biobed and directed Spock to lay Michael out on it. Pollard had a tricorder prepared.

“103 degree fever, exhaustion, dehydration from the fever -- are you kidding me?!” Her head shot up to face them, confusion and anger fighting for dominance in both her face and voice.

“Both of you are with her 90% of the time and you didn’t say anything?!”

For the first time in a very long time, Spock found himself at a loss for words. His brain could not generate a proper reason, a proper justification for his obvious lack in observation or act on any notion that he felt was “off”. Was he so determined that Michael suffer and not be provided aide when she obviously needed it?

“It was my fault,” Tilly eventually said in a quavering voice, massaging Michael’s limp hand. “I knew something was wrong but she told me she was fine…”

Pollard huffed in disbelief but said in a more gentler tone: “If we solely relied on Commander Burnham’s testimony on whether she was feeling well or not, our lives would be sufficiently more difficult.”

Doctor Culber agreed with that sentiment.

“She’s quite sick. I’m going to take her off the duty-roscher for the rest of the week to start. We’ll see where she is from there.”

Three pairs of eyes followed Doctor Pollard disappear into the office in the back.

Spock was only qualified in medicine enough to watch as Doctor Culber pressed hypospray after hypospray into Michael’s neck. There wasn’t even a movement of acknowledgment. 

“I suspect she won’t wake up anytime soon,” Culber finally said, placing the last hypospray on the tray. Spock counted seven of them. What kind of medications were injected into his sis -- Michael?

“You two can return to your stations,” And then added when there was no movement from either party. “I’ll comm you both when she wakes up.”

That was code that their presence would only prove meddlesome. Spock knew that much but chose to be willfully ignorant of it.

~~

While Hugh wouldn’t exactly have called Spock returning, a “surprise” in the most basic sense of the word, but it certainly wasn’t the first thing that he would have expected. He had informed about the recent drama surrounding these siblings and was under a strong impression that the younger was angry with the older for reasons undisclosed. The presence of Spock made to have been resolved in some way or Spock was pushed to set the matter aside for the time being in regards to Michael’s illness.

He glanced down sight alighting in a glass full of orange juice in his hand. Hugh cocked an eyebrow back up at Spock. If he had noticed, he did not acknowledge it, rather choosing to cross to Michael’s bed, where she remained unresponsive to the outside world.

He watched as Spock placed the glass on a nearby unoccupied tray and pulled Michael to a sitting position. Thankfully, this time, Michael began to stir. Hugh grabbed a nearby medical tricorder.

“Michael,” Spock said, giving her a light shake to aid in pulling her from sleep. “Can you open your eyes?” It took a few seconds for Michael’s eyelids to flutter open. Liquid pupils slid back and forth over his face.

“Why are you here?”

Hugh watched as Spock blinked several times before answering.

“I need you to drink something. It’s going to help you get better.”

Her head sluggishly dropped to the glass of orange liquid and back at Spock distrustfully.

“Why?” She asked, voice cracking from sleep.

“Because you are ill and Doctor Pollard said you were dehydrated.” 

“What…?”

Her head turned slightly, presumably to take in the setting of this conversation. 

“Why am I in sickbay?”

“Because you are sick,” Spock answered, this time more loud and deliberate. “I found you passed out in your room.”

“Why was I in my room?”

“I do not know that Michael, you told Lieutenant-Commander Stamets that you were going to the messhall.”

“Her fever’s still too high,” Hugh quietly informed Spock. “She’s not completely in her right mind.”

Spock nodded ever-so-slightly.

“Drink your orange juice.”

“I don’t like orange juice.”

“You drank it for mother!”

“You’re not mother.” 

Hugh snorted and quickly tried to transform it into a cough. Spock turned in response.

“Sorry,” He apologized. “It’s just that it seems that Michael is just like that; even with family.”

“Indeed,” Spock responded flatly, turning back to Michael and pulling her to a sitting position.

“Michael, stop it,” Spock scolded when she had tried to push his hand away. “You’re acting like a child!”

“Coming from the guy that played an elongated version of the game of “Hide and Seek”.”

Hugh, at that moment, became grateful for the security footage that was currently being recorded albeit not for the reason than what it was originally intended for.

“I’m not going to indulge your immature remarks regarding this conversation any further.” 

"Because you are obviously the flaming beacon of maturity I should aspire to be."

"Michael, drink the orange juice!" 

There was a sufficient amount of grumbling but she eventually drained the glass when he held it up to her lips.

“There,” He said, putting the glass back down on the tray. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“Because you weren’t the one drinking it,” She replied.

“Just go to sleep, Michael.”

“I am both older and have a higher ranking than you. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Go to sleep or I will induce it!”

Hugh then decided to push himself into the situation, telling Spock that he wouldn’t allow him to nerve-pinch a patient.

~~

It wasn’t until he was sure that Michael was asleep that Spock uncurled his fingers from Michael’s wrist. While the touch-telepathy that Vulcans possessed could get troublesome, in moments like these, it proved to be an exceedingly useful quality. It also did not escape his attention that was making more physical contact with Michael more in these past few hours than he had in the past few years. It was only logical, he told himself. He was simply using his touch telepathy to help calm down someone who could get so easily agitated. And agitation would only prove to worsen her current condition.

Because Michael was sick. Because he did not see the signs until she was a heap at his feet. He wrung out a cloth provided and placed it upon her brow. She stirred but did not open her eyes. That was good. It had seemed most of his energy was being put into projecting as much peace and calm to her as he could muster in this current situation. 

He allowed himself back against the back of the chair, exhausted. Keeping his own emotions just barely below the surface was difficult enough. But now, he had to compensate for his sick and guilt-ridden sister.

Guilt. That was the strongest emotion that had emitted from her and was often accompanied by confusion and frustration; a painful and powerful concoction of emotions that had resulted in shame. Guilt and shame. He reached and touched her arm. Her skin was hot and dry like the deserts of their home. There’s no reason to feel like that constantly, he thought to her. Except that he had stated that quite loud and clear that there was,. That cursed chess match was pushing back into his memory. The look of horror and pain on Michael’s face when he had allowed himself to succumb to the anger and resentment he had held onto since he was a child. And then…...and then……

The light coat of sweat gave Michael the appearance of a glassy statue on the biobed. And was a lingering shadow of the reality that he was convinced he was going to witness in real time had Nhan, not slammed that button on the Section 31 station. 

He supposed it was what was considered “poetic justice”; to remind her oh so cruelly that she was at the other side of the door while her parents were slaughtered mercilessly by Klingon warriors. And then, being forced to watch her on the other side of a screen on a ship while her potential final moments were being played out like a recording. Speaking her name was he all he could do to try and hold on to what he could of her. As if saying her name could magically make her materialize before him and bring her back to immediate safety.

Michael, stop.

She was desperate, convinced that somehow, some way, she could save her friend. That both of them could somehow, make it out of this fatal situation alive.

It’s her or you Michael.

It was a selfish human desire but he wanted Michael to live. He did not know the other crewman -- Airiam if he recalled correctly -- and the situation was clear. Airiam’s software was corrupted. The choice was clear as glass in his mind. Save Michael. Save Michael

Michael, open the airlock.

She wouldn’t do it. He already knew that she wouldn’t do it. If there was a chance that another had a chance at life over her, she’d chose the other over herself when it came down to it. She’d chose The Other every. Single. Time. She chose the welfare of the family over herself when she ran from the house and into the forest on the forge, trapped with the conclusion that her developing brain had come to. These were the actions of a young child who had grown to believe that nothing but tragedy and trauma lurked at her heels. He knew this. He had always known this.

She shifted and the cloth fell adjacent, partially on her forehead and partially on the inadequate sickbay pillow  


“It’s all going to be alright now, Michael,” He said, adjusting the cloth. “Now, I fully understand.” 

~~

The first thing she had become aware of was the sensation that her temple was being split open from the inside followed by a lingering ache in her shoulder. And then, acting more on instinct than conscious thought, she opened her eyes. Darkness greeted her and a flash-flood of panic filled her chest and washed up her throat. 

She gasped.

“Michael?”

She reached blindly for the voice who had spoken her name in the all-consuming darkness and her hands, much to her own surprise, alighted on something solid and instinctively, she clung. She was in a sea of black and this was her life preserver. She could feel a pair of arms constrict around her, holding her close.

“I have you. You are safe.”

She could feel her heart hammering on the inside of her ribcage and her fingernails digging into a cool and stiff fabric.

“It is okay Michael,”

One arm moved up and felt something solid press into the back of her head and direct it to a shoulder. Or...something…...It certainly felt like a shoulder.

“I can’t see…” She spoke, feeling her unused vocal cords crack in her throat. Somehow, she had an inkling of suspicion that that was not the only concern at the present moment but that was the only concern that she could seize. Other thoughts melted through her fingers like warm ice cream.

“It’s the simulation of the light to appear as if it’s night,” The body (she was sure it was a body) vibrated when the words emitted from it. “Would you like it on?”

Before she could properly articulate an answer, a dim but pale glow filled the room, certainly not bright enough to hurt her eyes but enough that she could properly make out objects in her direct line of vision. She could see. She was safe.

“Come on,”

The world tilted and suddenly, she was on her back. Her eyes traveled around and while she could make out the general outline of objects, details were proving altogether impossible. She squinted and then squeezed her eyes shut. 

There was a mass hovering above her. A mass of dark mingled in with a lighter shade. And then, a hand pressing to the side of her face. She pulled away at the sudden coolness against her burning cheek. There was also a feeling -- intuition if you will. For a reason she could not exactly distinguish, while the contact and the words were providing her with the comfort that she so desperately desired, there was a looming feeling of anxiety. That something had happened before and this wasn’t quite right. 

A second figure materialized above her. The voices which had seemed so close and clear before were now were audibly blurred as much as her vision presented. She glanced in between these two figures. And then, an arm extended and pressed to her neck. Her eyelids grew heavy with an invisible weight and the darkness, which was so terrifying to her, provided her with comfort.

~~

Michael was still asleep when she had come into to visit. Hugh informed that she’s been sleeping mostly with a few bursts of wakefulness; as was to be expected. She was thankful for that, at least. Too many out-of-the-ordinary events have happened lately, Michael’s health, the least of these she wanted those events to afflict.  
Besides being consumed by a fungal coffin and being sucked into the myceneal network, Tilly could not recall a time where she was more terrified. Well okay, maybe that was a false statement; there had been plenty of examples…..being consumed by a coffin made from mushrooms as well as having to impersonate her Terran counterpart not several hours after being thrown into an alternate dimension of said Terrans.

But this.

This was a different feeling of fear. At least with the other situations, there were others. She had the support of the crew of Discovery (save for their previous captain who turned out to be a psychopathic leader of a rebellion against an equally psychopathic regime) and a sentient space fungus whom somehow, she had managed to befriend. Then again, that could have also something to do with said fungus implanting itself in her neuro pathways.

Tilly shook her head.

Michael was there to get her. She was the first familiar thing she had seen in and had clung to her tightly as a sole pathway to life.

She raised her head when she heard the hissed open and turned to see Saru. He stopped, muttered a mundane greeting and proceeded beside her.

“How is she?” He asked after a moment of silence.

“Both Doctor Pollard and Culber said she was going to be fine,” Tilly supplied, squeezing Michael’s hand. “She just needs rest. A lot of rest.”  
Saru gave a jerky nod. 

“It’s what she deserves,” He replied. “My only wish is that it did not take a what would normally be a harmless virus to completely overwhelm her for us to realize this.”

Tilly tried to swallow the lump in her throat to no avail.

“Anything happen on the Bridge since my break?”

“Spock has been kicked out of Engineering by Lieutenant-Commander Stamets and now he’s taken up residence at a consul on the bridge.”

“What did he do to get kicked out?” Tilly asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Pacing,” Saru replied. 

“You can get kicked out for that?”

“You can if you’re loud enough about it apparently,”

Tilly pushed a smile and turned back to Michael and it fell again.

“How long have you been here?”

Tilly shrugged.

“Since the end of my shift. Didn’t want her to be lonely.”

“Well between you and Spock, I do not think she has been alone for more than five minutes,”

Heads turned to see Doctor Pollard, approaching with a tray of hypospray, presumably for Michael’s next doses of medicines unknown to any of them besides the doctors present.

“She’s still asleep?” Pollard asked, placing the tray down nearby and picking up her medical tricorder.

Both nodded.

“Good. Even our leaps in medical science over the centuries can’t replace good, long sleep.”

Saru and Tilly nodded and unison and the former turned to the latter.

“I’ll take it from here, I have reports to finish for Pike in the meantime.”

“A-Are you sure, Commander?” 

“I do not think the Captain will much appreciate it if another respected officer was in sickbay with an exhaustion-induced illness.”

Tilly felt her cheeks warm considerably and lowered her head.

“I-I’ll be in the messhall if you need me…” She managed to stammer out before leaving.

~~

It was strange to see Michael like this, Saru mused. So still and so quiet beneath the thin sickbay blanket. Her chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths. He would consider himself far from a medical professional but he was under good authority that was good for humans (Kelpians tend to sleep with short, quick bursts).

The presence of clinging sweat indicated the obvious presence of fever, not yet broken. That was another thing about humans he had learned since being rescued from Kaminar; they could not withstand a raised body temperature for too long and while it was assured that Michael would get better and had the undivided of both of some of the best doctors he had had the pleasure to work with, that fear that some would inevitably go wrong loomed.

She shivered and curled onto her side. 

Doctor Pollard forbade more than one blanket to prevent her from overheating her in the midst of an already too-high fever. He placed his PADD down and tucked the blanket around her to the best of his ability. 

“You’re going to be alright Michael,” He had said, much to his own surprise, in Vulcan. Michael may not have given any indication that she could speak the language but her little physical nuances whenever he conversed with Ambassador Sarek or another native of the planet, gave away that she was eavesdropping. He had attempted once or twice to speak to her in Vulcan but she only blinked at him in response.

Saru sighed and leaned forward. Nothing involving Michael Burnham would never be simple, no matter how much he longed for it.  
Michael was like a sister to him; even when they were on the Shenzhou and most of their interactions were bickering as opposed to not, their banter was eerily similar to how he interacted with Sirana as children, as most siblings did. Of course, he was not keen on admitting that until he was faced with the very possibility of dying.

His large hand covered hers. 

He was not a very good brother, Saru admitted if he allowed her to get his bad to begin with. His mind traveled back to when this could have begun.

Spock.

It all began with, as she often put it, foster brother. A half-Vulcan half-Human hybrid who appeared to lean towards one species as opposed to the other though there was 50% of each. He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to the man beyond a few necessary pleasantries associated with the first interaction. He delivered a curt nod and followed Michael out of the Captain’s office and to what he assumed, was his guest quarters on Discovery. And while Michael possessed her quiet determination when looking for her brother, there was a notable shift after Spock was safely aboard Discovery after that extended scavenger was put to an end. The determined silence was replaced with an exhausted, defeated silence. It suddenly occurred to Saru that Michael’s posture had been ever-so-slightly bent these few days before illness. A small but telling tale that she was creaking beneath the towering pressure. And it was only when she crumbled to dust when they noticed. 

Saru’s head instinctively turned when he heard the sickbay door hiss, back to Michael and then back to the door again when he realized who had entered. The aforementioned subject of his thoughts stood straight in his Vulcan stoicism and Saru found himself pushing his shoulders back as well. The Vulcan eyed him, almost questioningly, before crossing the door and towards Michael’s bedside. Neither spoke for a tense period of time.

“What is your affiliation with her?”

Spock was the first to break the silence. Saru felt that this wouldn’t be the case unless there was a pressing matter at hand that he was unaware of. There was, Saru concluded, though more likely or not, it varied between the two officers.

“She is a close friend,” Saru replied. He hesitated calling her “sister” at that particular moment. “We work closely on the bridge together.”

Spock did not speak more as he reached over to press the back of his hand to Michael’s forehead. He did not know what good that would do; Vulcans have a lower body temperature than humans and feeling her forehead either way would give off a feverish quality.

“For someone who claims to be a close friend of hers,” Saru turned to face Spock when he spoke once more. “I do not see you around her often.”

Saru bit back the urge to snap his reply.

“As you are obviously aware these past few days have not been exactly peak conditions for socializing. Besides, you have the opportunity to work close to her these past few days whereas I have not. Which brings me to my next point.”

He turned his head to face Spock.

“What exactly did you do to her?”

The words fell out before he could stop them.

“Excuse me?” The sentence may have been in the form of a question but how Spock said it, it seemed to Saru, it was being presented in more of a challenge.

“What did you do to her,” Saru repeated, more deliberately this time. Spock’s eyes sharpened.

“I did nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” Saru said, attempting to quell the obvious emotional quality to his voice. As irritating as Vulcans could get about their policies on exhibiting emotions, they had the right idea of not letting them influence their way of thinking most of the time.

“She’s been so unhappy since you’ve been on board and on the bridge before Airiam’s passing --” He paused to compose himself. “She was nearly in tears. So I will not repeat myself after this. What did you do to her?”

“I would not ask you to speak on subjects regarding family so I think it is inappropriate that you should question matters regarding my own.”  


And Saru scoffed.

“Family,” He said with contempt. “I’ve seen you work with her; you do not treat her more than she’s an inconvenience that you have to condescend yourself to work with.”

“You obviously speak of manners of which you have no understanding.”

A little behind Spock, he could see Doctor Culber speaking from the office.

“Can both of you bring it down a little bit?”

Saru could remember a time he’d make an effort to listen and obey regulations. Though maybe because of the shedding of his threat ganglia or past experiences with a horrible captain, but he found himself liberal use of his own whims. And besides this, Spock was behaving like a child And like a child, Spock needed to be scolded. Just because Michael was his sister and just because he served with Pike longer than anyone currently on the ship did not give him the authorization to behave in such a manner. 

“I know enough!” Saru spat. “You think I am not aware of how you went out of your way to get her worked up or how subdued she became when she had to work with you? I know exactly what you’ve been doing!”

“If you know what I’ve been doing then why do you need me to confirm?” Spock said and Saru felt himself grow pale with rage.

“Officers please!” Doctor Culbert had emerged from the office and was now in between them, one hand hovering over each officer. 

“I’ve heard all that I needed to hear!” Saru turned his back to Spock.“You may not regard Michael as your sister but she is a sister to me. And know this, I will do everything in my power to minimize her pain and if that means consulting the captain to pull you from working with her then so be it. I will not allow her to be hurt more than she already has been again!”

“Officers!!”

It wasn’t Doctor Culber’s voice that cut through the climax of the argument but rather, the voice of Doctor Tracy Pollard. She was at the head of Michael’s bed as if she had materialized there.

“I do not know where the Hell you think you are but this is sickbay! And in case you’ve forgotten,” She directed their attention to the curled figure on the bed. “There is a patient here who is in sore need of a good rest! And that is not going to happen with you two shouting over her bedside like children! Now both of you are banned until you can figure out how to act like adults!”


	3. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflict resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end now :) I hope everyone enjoys it.

Pike could recall only a handful of times where he was truly and genuinely angry. It might have been the fatherly thing to say, he admitted but whenever one of the members of his crew had done something against code, he felt disappointment; disappointment that the crewmember had allowed themselves to succumb to an easier but morally ambiguous path and disappointed in himself that he did not teach them as well as he had assumed he had. He would then make another resolution to drill into the minds of new cadets the importance of maintaining morality.

But this.

This was something entirely different. Lieutenant Spock was one of the most promising young officers he had encountered during this time in Command and Commander Saru, though he had not known him for long besides by name, had proven time and time again worthy of his rank as First Officer.   
He straightened a PADD that had been nudged diagonally when his arm brushed against it. 

Had it only been an argument, he would have simply told them to resolve it soon. But this had taken place both the worst time and place. The worst time being when Michael was as ill as she was and the place being in sickbay -- with Doctor Culber and Doctor Pollard working to keep Michael in a much-deserved sleep and to have the both of them being the sole cause of rising tensions in a place that was supposed to provide comfort and care to those confined behind its walls.

The doorbell chimed and he raised his head.

“Come in,” He replied, keeping his voice as monotonous as he could muster. Both Commander Saru and Lieutenant Spock had stony expressions as the crossed the office and stopped short of his desk.

“I have a question for both of you gentlemen,” He said, his eyes resting on Saru and then on Spock. Neither made an attempt to ask what.

“What,” 

Two pairs of eyes followed as Pike got up from his office chair and began to pace.

“The Hell were the both of you thinking?!”

Pike’s voice was a cocktail of disbelief and anger. Both Saru and Spock stood in identical postures; ironic considering that they were clearly on opposite sides of the argument that they had. In sickbay!

“No seriously!” Pike exclaimed. “I genuinely want to know the reason why two of my finest officers were found, quite literally, arguing over Michael! In what realm of possibility did the both of you think that was even remotely alright?!” 

“It was,” Saru took a breath. “An error in judgment on both sides.”

“You damn right it was!” Pike hissed. “A severe error in judgment!”

Pike sat down in his chair and began to rub his face with his hands.

“I do not know why you two were are arguing about Michael and frankly, nor would I be concerned about it under normal circumstances. But I am concerned when it involves work performance and when it involves a third party who currently does not have the ability to insert input of her own! So I suggest you both apologize to Doctor Pollard and Doctor Culber and she may lift the ban! But whatever you two were arguing over I want it resolved soon! Do I make myself clear?”

There a joint response of “yes sir”.

“Good.” Pike straightened himself in his chair.

“Both of you are dismissed and off-duty for the remainder of the day.”

There wasn’t an utter of protest from both of them as they turned and left.

~~

She couldn’t say exactly what, but there was something different with how the crew carried themselves when word spread that Michael was sick. It wasn’t anything dangerous, was the first thing that Tilly had said to both her and Detmer after lunch, but Michael was in sickbay and would very likely not be allowed on duty before the week was out. It was completely reasonable that even Michael herself would get sick. After all, she was only human. But for it to...you know...actually happen….

Owosekun shook her head. 

She personally only heard of Michael Burnham, the Mutineer after the fact. As in, she knew as much as the next person about her; that she was Starfleet’s first mutineer and that there was a special place for her at a top security colony for her. And then, she had met Detmer who had dished out all of the details regarding her serving with the disgraced Commander. Detmer did not get into too many details but had made it clear that she would not forgive Michael for what happened to the Late Captain Philippa Georgiou the consequences that it triggered.

She had to laugh at that. How perspectives had changed, no longer treated with caution and contempt. Michael herself had changed, Joann realized herself. Going from the dead-eyed woman in the yellow prison jumpsuit to a Commander whose smile spread to her eyes. That had happened less and less since they had dug deeper into an increasingly dire situation involving Command and the red signals and Joann thought to herself how much of it had been intense to keep her creeping illness at bay from the general knowledge. She should visit her in sickbay if Michael was up to visitors. 

She entered in the messhall without missing that there seemed to be more commotion than there typically was. At the far end of messhall, Keyla stood, slightly bent, waving her over.

“Did something happen?” She questioned when she was well within hearing range of the group. 

“Did you hear?” Detmer asked excitedly and Owosekun tilted her head. 

“Hear what, exactly?”

“Commander Saru and Lieutenant Spock nearly decked it out in sickbay!”

What.” That was intended to be more of a statement than a question.

“Nearly,” Jett said, emphasizing with her fork. A cherry tomato was speared with the three prongs. “I’m still sorry I missed it though.”

“All of you are terrible!” Paul said in a tone that could almost be compared to a whine. “Do none of you know anything about being couth?”

“We prefer to call it “curiosity”,” Linus supplied and there were hums of agreements all around the table.

“I don’t think that Commander Saru even so much as elbowed someone, even when he was serving on the Shenzhou,” Detmer said. “I wonder what Spock could have said that would have triggered him yelling like that? Paul?”

Paul raised his head and found several pairs of expectant eyes staring at him.

“What?”

“Did you ever see Saru and Spock argue in Engineering?”

“Commander Saru was hardly in Engineering,” Paul replied, sipping his water. “If they had arguments before, they certainly weren’t in Engineering.”

“And I would have heard about them,” Jett added. Owosekun watched as Paul had cast Jett a nervous glance. She turned to him. “No, I will not elaborate.”

“Good,” Paul said, pushing a piece of sweet potato onto his mouth. 

“What about Spock and Michael?”

“Of course they argue!” Paul exclaimed voice muffled. “They’re siblings!”

“But you have to admit they argue more often than siblings do,” Detmer said. 

“Spoken like someone who’s an only child.”

“I take issue to that, Lieutenant Commander!” Detmer retorted. “I’ll have you know I have an older brother!”

“How much older?”

“10 years. Why?”

“I rest my case.’’

“If you ask me,” Linus said, steering the subject back to the one at hand to prevent a fight of their own from breaking out. “It was about Commander Burnham -- Oh don’t tell me none of you had realized this!” 

“What makes you say that?” Owosekun asked. Her friends apparently knew more than she did on this particular topic so she had taken on listening intently on the fresh gossip.

“They were in sickbay and as far as I know, there is only one person in sickbay at the moment.”

Before the conversation could develop, the messhall doors hissed open and heads turned to see the aforementioned Commander Saru walking in. The mingled conversations dimmed and Owosekun quickly hijacked the conversation to talk about what was happening on her consul during her shift. They pretended to be enthralled with the monotonous conversation but all had turned their heads slightly as to watch Saru order replicated Fredallia tea and move to a small table in the corner.

~~

The ghost of the argument with Commander Saru did not linger in sickbay but rather, seemed to follow him everywhere he went. It was there at the captain’s office as Pike exhibited more anger than he could remember seeing from his Captain. It was there when he saw the look in Commander Saru’s eyes when they briefly met after their argument and it was there when he had followed his captain’s advice and apologizing for his brief lapse in both control and maturity (He was still banned, but for 24 hours). Now, he was alone. 

It was also the first time since he arrived on Discovery that he realized he was alone. He was on an unfamiliar ship, surrounded by an unfamiliar crew save for a handful of officers that had transferred over with Captain Pike. But he was not close with any of them. Between Michael and Captain Pike, he did not know much of anyone besides names and ranks.

“Hey.”

He turned and saw the all-too-familiar Jett Reno walking towards him (he had talked to her only a few times, each time leaving him both mildly confused and somewhat offended). He straightened his posture and made eye contact.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Jett did not stop, rather passing him and turned her head to his general direction.

“Come walk with me, kid,” 

Jett did not wait for him to follow but rather, continued to walk. Spock blinked at her back before taking a few long strides to catch up to her.

“I heard about you nearly throwing hands with Saru in sickbay,”

Spock jerked his head to Jett.

“How did you find out about that?”

“Please,” Jett rolled her eyes. “Nothing stays a secret on a starship; especially when you nearly throw hands with the guy voted “Least Likely to Get into a Bar Brawl”. So spill. What happened?”

Silence.

“Was it about Michael?”

More silence.

“Thought so,” Jett replied and Spock briefly wondered how this woman was getting so much from him saying nothing. “Both of you might be emotionally constipated that doesn’t mean either of you are subtle.”

“Michael is my sister,” He had said. A statement that was true in fact and was brief and provided Jett with neither a positive or a negative to her statement. It also, he suddenly realized, was the first time he had called her his sister since the Incident that drove a wedge between them.

“That she is,” Jett conceded. “A damn good one if she was willing to track your ass across the universe with nothing save the occasional cookie crumb. But of course, you already know that.” 

He nodded slowly and debated on whether he was going to offer more of a response.   
“  
Where are we going?”

Jett did not answer his question, rather, choosing to elaborate on the point that she seemed intent on getting to.

“Commander Saru is a royal pain in the ass but he does have Michael’s best interests at heart. You, as her brother, should appreciate that she has someone like that.”

Yes. 

He was Michael Burnham’s brother. Her little brother.

They turned around a corner and into the doors leading to the messhall. Spock stopped short when he saw Commander Saru. The aforementioned stopped drinking, what Spock presumed was his tea. They both eyed each other as if they were animals who had just realized they were in the midst of each other.

“You,” She said, giving him a slight push. “Both of you are going to apologize and make up before y’all go back to see Michael.”

“I --”

“No “buts”, kid. You want to see your sister, you have to make peace with her Work Brother.” 

Saru pushed himself from the chair and stood in all of his Kelpian glory. Spock found himself trying to get himself match the stance upon experiencing the rare experience of being the shorter one. 

Spock would have thought that Jett Reno would have taken her leave and let them, as the expression went, “sort it out”. That did not happen, rather, standing there, arms folded.

“Well?” Saru said, turning to Jett after a few moments of silence.

“I’m just here to be that reliable third-person that both of you made up and that you can be trusted not to nearly throw hands above a sick officer.”

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Saru replied, rather irritated before turning back to Spock. He held his hands behind his back.

“Commander,” Spock greeted.

“Lieutenant.”

The brief moment of silence between them was stifling. Only Jett appeared to be unperturbed.

“I --” Saru inclined his head forward. “Apologize for raising my voice. It was uncalled for and unprofessional.” 

Saru’s tone barely fluctuated, something akin to Vulcan mannerisms, Spock found himself thinking.

“I...accept your apology.”

Another moment of silence. 

“Go on, Spock,”

Jett's voice was condescendingly coaxing, speaking as if he were little more than a naughty child. He turned to her and then back to Saru.

“I apologize as well,” The words were coming out of his mouth like syrup. “I made an...error in judgment in saying what I said.”

Jett pulled herself to full height and clapped slowly.

“There, that wasn’t that difficult was it?”

If the situation regarding the mindmeld with the Red Angel had not been resolved, Spock himself probably would have questioned the validity of her existence.

“Now both of you go and tell Doctor Culber and Doctor Pollard that you two made up so you can visit Michael.” 

~~

Much to her chagrin, Michael awoke in sickbay. The sterile lights that had peeked through her eyelids and cut through her pupils when she dared to open them. She squeezed her eyes shut and tossed her head a bit to the left and to the right, instinctively raising her head to provide an inadequate shield. And, slowly, as her black eyes grew accustomed to the light, she began to make out objects that were typical of sickbay; biobeds exactly two and a half meters away from another. Hyposprays neatly lined up on the counters. She blinked and turned her head.

“Michael!”

She could barely recognize the silhouette of Tilly before the aforementioned descended upon her, throwing her arms over her and pulled her into her.

“You’re alright!”

“Of course I am?” Michael said wrapping her arms around her friend. 

Tilly retracted, her hands moving to hold Michael’s face.

“Do you not remember anything?”

Michael’s hand reached to hold Tilly’s own.

“I remember going to Engineering to work with Lieutenant Spock but not a lot after that.”

Michael’s hand moved from Tilly’s hand to her forehead.  
]  
“What exactly happened?”

The corners of Tilly’s mouth tugged downward.

“You were found passed out in your bedroom. You were in and out for the better part of three days.”

Michael at that point jerked.

“Three days? That’s far too long!”

“I’ll say,” Tilly replied, nodding her head vigorously. “You practically scared the shit out of all -- Hey!!"

She grabbed Michael's shoulders when she tried to push herself off of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Michael tilted her head, confused. 

“Isn’t it obvious? I have to go to Engineering!”

“No, you will not.”

Much to the surprise of both Michael and Tilly, Saru was suddenly in front of them as if he had suddenly materialized from the transporter pad.

“Saru?”

“You have direct orders from the captain not to step foot out of sickbay until both Doctor Culber and Doctor Pollard have cleared you for duty.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Very,” Saru responded.

“The fate of the universe is at stake!” She exclaimed, trying to get up once more. Tilly maintained her grip on her shoulders. 

“The universe will be here when you get better, I can guarantee that.” 

“Please Michael!”

The mentioned turned her head back to Tilly, still gripping her shoulders and staring up at her with pleading eyes.

Michael hesitated.

A hiss drew their attention to the metal doors of sickbay. They watched as the metal doors parted.  
Spock.  
They watched as he stepped into the threshold and jolted to a stop. Tilly's eyes traveled between Spock and Michael a few times before her pale eyes widened in realization. She picked herself up to her feet quickly and brushed away imaginary dust. 

“I just um..remembered a something from a thing that I needed to show the Captain,” 

The string of words tumbled out of Tilly’s mouth. She stared at Saru, tight-lipped and gave a not-so-subtle jerk of her head towards the sickbay door. 

“Oh yes,” Saru said, glancing between the siblings and the Ensign. “I will go help you,” His blue eyes rested on Tilly’s grey and tilted his head. “With the thing.” 

Both Michael and Spock’s eyes trailed after the Ensign and the Commander leave and vanish as the door closed and they turned a corner and presumably, proceeded down the corridor. Spock turned back and considered his sister on the bed. Michael was neatly propped up on a couple of sickbay pillows. She was better than she was when he first carried her there but the sheen as the sickbay lights bounced off her face made the presence of the still-persistent fever obvious. 

“Is there something you found?”

Spock blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Well,” Michael’s legs shifted beneath the blankets. “I do not think that three days have passed without finding any leads of any kind. There must have been something.”

“Michael…”

He took a few steps towards her and Michael visibly stiffened. She was clear-minded now and save for the moments of a mind, overwhelmed with fever, she could remember. He stopped, debating whether he should take Ensign Tilly’s place at the edge of her biobed eventually opted for it. Michael shifted her legs to the side and eyed Spock distrustfully.

“Michael,” He tried again. There was so much to be said but the words died on his tongue. At this moment in time, he felt that nothing he could say would make it all better. 

“I apologize.”

Spock thought that Michael’s brows would disappear into her dark curls.

“My recent behaviour and my treatment of you has been...unacceptable…to say the least.”

Michael’s silence pushed him to continue.

“I was angry and I had chosen to take it out on you as opposed to dealing -- no Michael, look at me.”

He reached and touched her shoulder and she raised her head. 

“As opposed to dealing with why I was really angry.”

Spock’s brown eyes were pleading to Michael’s dark ones. 

“Despite what I said, you are my sister. I love you.”

“I love you too,” 

Finally, a step in the right direction. In a rare gesture of affection that Michael perceived from him, he leaned over and pulled her into his arms. And though Michael could not recall the last time that Spock had hugged her, there was something comfortably familiar about the stiff fabric and lingering scent of Vulcan spice tea that she could not pinpoint.


End file.
